The Truth
by Raynidreams
Summary: John finds out the truth about the Winchester destiny.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Truth

Author: RireneC

Summary: One Shot - John finding out the truth about Sam's destiny. Apologies to others if this has been done before.

Rating: T

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John's eyes opened sharply as his head snapped up. He blinked rapidly before staring dully at the papers before him. Nodding off had done nothing to energize his aching mind and tired eyes; he was coming to the end of his strength.

Winchester was an honest enough man to admit that his current condition was the result of too much drink combined with the lack of sleep. He was also too damn angry and stubborn to ever change the way he lived his life.

He sighed and began to carefully rearrange his notes, making sure that he kept track of his place in the seventy year old diary set up in front of him. He had been incredibly lucky to get to see it. The male archivist hadn't liked the look of his battered face one bit and had been adamant that the volume needed conservation before use. John had bided his time until a different assistant came on duty. Younger and female, he summoned up a charm he rarely used and she had caved. She had also helped him to set it up by the side of her desk, and gently showed him how to turn the pages from the top , running his fingers under to move them over. Dean would have been proud of the soft smile he dredged up to accompany his thank you. Unlike Dean, he did not use that bewitching smile to get her number.

The diary had been complicated reading so far. Belonging to a former hunter, it was a mismatch of supernatural notes, photographs and sketches. Like his own record of tracking down the creature that had destroyed his family, he suspected that this diary had only really made sense to the woman who had written it. He'd been surprised to find himself thinking that it belonged to a woman; the catalogue had the name George Webley as its writer, but John just couldn't shift the thought of Mary's journals, where private thoughts had always slipped through the record of daily events. John found himself empathising with the writer because of this and he slightly indulged himself by sharing in her successes, and mourning over her pain.

The compassion he felt for her ran through his head, but did not make it into his note: his notes had always been purely reserved for information on hunting.

The writing, from the start of the diary began to decrease in care and style half way through, as more and more notes and pictures were crammed on to the fragile yellowing pages.

John rubbed his face in frustration, when a the use of a darker ink caused the tracing of text on the reverse side of the pages to show through. This, on top of the idiosyncratic content was enough to drag the niggling headache into a full blown migraine if John wasn't careful.

Sighing, John leaned back and rubbed at his aching temples. He then glanced at the clock and registered that the department was closing in an hour. He was desperately hungry and thirsty. The delay in having to wait for the male archivist to leave had severely cut into his research time. Working three hours straight, after that waiting, and an all night drive with a killer of a hangover, did not make him a happy or efficient worker.

"Sir, Mr. Lynyrd?" The assistant interrupted. "If you want to take a quick break I'll watch your notes for you." She smiled reassuringly. John wasn't given to trusting much of anyone apart from his sons these days, however this girl's gaze held something familiar. It wasn't till he was standing up it registered that although the eye colour was wrong, the gentle look could have been Sam's. Well, Sam's look when it was directed at anyone but him.

"Thank you." Twice in one day, it was almost a record. These were words that did not often sprout from John's lips. It was just that he was feeling an increasing weakness growing within him. It had been a little over a week since the fight with the shadow demons and although he was recovering physically, emotionally he was still raw. He almost couldn't believe that he had not only seen, but had held both his sons in his arms. Dean was as pleased to see him as ever, and Sammy, well he had been just as happy to see John too. It seemed like a life time and not just a couple of years since their previous meeting. He was glad that he and Sam had not parted in anger this time. In pain and covered in blood but not anger. Sam loved him, he knew it deep in his bones, but they just rubbed one another up the wrong way. _Damn stubborn Kid_.

In the restroom, John scooped a handful of water into his mouth and the next splashed his face. His reflection in the bathroom mirror startled him. He didn't shave much these days, and the last hair cut he had had was a butchers job at Missouri's insistence. The bruises on his face were fading but his scratches stood out a mile. No wonder the archivist had been reluctant to let him research the diary. John's self summary was that he looked like a train wreak. Missouri would tease if she saw him looking in a mirror for any other reason than to check for the otherworldly. He smiled remembering her instance that everyday human things were the only way to ground him to this reality and not the next. The smile lightened his face allowing the ghost of his son Dean to peak through.

Not for the first time, the hunter wished that he could turn back time. If not to before that fateful night, then at least to six or seven years ago. He use to be able to come home after a days research to find Dean's smiling face asking if the library chicks were hot, and to Sam dishing out an attempt at wholesome food while bursting with a million questions over what he had learned. Tonight he would either return to the truck to sleep, or take solace in the bottom of a bottle.

He missed the boys so much. He knew he was doing this for them but some days he wondered if the fight was worth it., but deep in his soul he knew that it was. In the last year, he had proved what he'd always suspected, that the monster that had killed Mary was a demon. The pattern of strange weather and cattle deaths in the preceding week before an attack had him chasing the thing to hell and back. The saddest part was that even if he did find the thing, he was no nearer to being able to kill it. He had seen that dead look in to many destroyed families now. John had to end it, soon.

In between spotting the signs, he was determined to check every reference, to every past hunter he could lay his hands on. He hoped against hope to be able to find a way to not only exorcise, but eliminate the fucking thing forever.

The girl was flicking through the diary when he returned. He felt a momentary alarm that she was leaning over his research notes but her concentration appeared to be fixed on the volume. She jumped at his silent approach, then offered him a shaky smile.

"Hi. Sorry, I wasn't reading you work. Just the diary." John watched as she held a finger a hair width away from the page and indicated a particularly faded bit of writing. "If you need help to read this section, I've got a UV lamp that can emphasize the text?" John nodded and watched as she reached behind the counter and retrieved it.

"I meant to ask earlier, you don't happen to have any other papers or records on a similar theme do you?"

She grinned.

"Spooky stuff? I love that kinda thing but,' She flushed and looked down, 'the boss isn't so keen. He says that, that's all the students and crazys are into. Not only is he a bit unfeeling,' she commented lowering her voice, 'he isn't much fun. We had some kids reeking of the illicit in here after a seance the other day. Reckoned that they talked to a spirit who was murdered in the house." She chuckled and seemed to expect John to do the same. .

"Oh, you remember the address?" His piqued interest seemed to slightly worry her

"Umm, not really."

"I'm just interested. I'm writing a book on the supernatural, and any bit of information my lead to a chapter."

John suspected that the girl didn't like to think on what kind of chapter this volume would lead too. The volume had been sourced under psychiatry (its writer assumed disturbed), not psychic. It contained some pretty gruesome stuff.

"I don't really think so... there maybe some newspaper clippings, family papers containing letters about ghosts, or some records of witch trials, but apart from that..." She let the sentence hang. "Oh, I could check the provenance, see if anything else came in with the deposit?"

John nodded and watched as she wandered off. He picked the UV lamp up and held it over the text. He was surprised over how much it actually cleared the writing up, and sat to continue taking notes. The woman hunter had, had some minor successes with spirits but seemed to have been limited for asking for help from the boys club of hunters. He noted down the name of a group of white witches that had helped the diarist at one point and thought that this might be useful. Witches, good or bad were really good on genealogy. They were also notoriously clever at passing information down to their daughters. _Perhaps Dean could make a play for one of the younger ones? Never know what that boy can discover when a girl is involved._

John felt that warm glow again whenever the thought of one of his son's came to mind. It made him all the more determined to keep on going, keep digging. Someone, somewhere had to know a way to trap or kill the son of a bitch.

John flipped to the next page and only just caught the smaller segment on the reverse of the page he had been reading. The paper-clip holding it in place was thick and rusty. The dark red had seeped into the paper like blood. He flipped it back and pushed the lamp underneath it.

'_I felt pain with the pictures for the first time today. I always thought the light banished the monsters as well as the nightmares, but now they are reaching for me during the day. I have tried not to write about these pictures before - keeping my diary for the hunt, but I can't do it anymore. I can't deny them anymore.'  
_  
John sat back from the diary a second. The entry all seemed a little too close to home. _A hunter who was psychic?_ Missouri had filled him in about Sam's true dreaming in Lawrence. He had always known how clever and sensitive his youngest was, but he had never quite made the stretch to a sixth talent. The eldest Winchester knew that deep inside he'd been denying the truth. Like moths to a flame, the supernatural beings they hunted had always been drawn to Sam. John had wanted to believe that the demon had been after Mary that night; and had needed to think that Sam was an innocent witness caught in the path of a terrible event. But more and more John was coming to realise that it was the children. Each time, it was in the nursery. Each time, the night of the infants six month birthday. The connections were there and John was damn well going to find out the truth.

'_The vision showed me that the possessed one would go after another today. I got there too late to save him. I was only thankful that holy water and quick reflexes saved my life. I just pray that when it returns for me the trap will hold and that I am strong enough to free the poor soul locked as its body.'  
_  
The little page ended there. John flicked through the remainder of the bursting volume but did not spot any further small faded pages.

"Damn." John fought to contain his frustration. This was the kind of information he needed. Serious clues about demons and devil's traps. If he was ever to destroy the bastard, he needed all the weapons he could find.

A shadow passed over him and the girl placed an acid free box by his side.

"This never made it into the catalogue as it was due to be destroyed. However, as no one was able to contact the depositor again, it has lurked in the strongroom ever since." She shrugged by way of explanation and left John to it.

Inside the box was an envelope and a photograph. The photograph depicted a sturdy looking woman, whose strong physique was ruined by the wary and pained expression in her eyes. John scanned the back of the photograph for any details but there was none. Examining her fighters stance, he guessed that she could be his diarist.

The envelope was not addressed but it had been sealed at one point. He flicked open the yellowing pages and noted that the writing was the same as in the diary. Unlike most of the diary however, the letter was written in Latin, and smeared with blood.

_'I know that you will read this someday. I have seen it. Just as I have seen that by fluke no one else but you should read it._

_You and your family have suffered, and will suffer more if you do not listen to me.'_

John took a shaky breath as he felt something tighten in his stomach. This was the same style as the entry on the small page in the diary.

_'You love someone like me. I watched your wife burn with blood dripping from her belly on to your hand and child. _

_This child has the same senses that I do._

_But, unlike mine, his are tainted. _

_His were grafted for a specific purpose when he was just a tiny infant and he will be lost to them if you cannot be strong. _

_He will be lost if you cannot give your all to save your other son. _

_The loss of your youngest will be the death of the eldest. The death of the eldest will be the loss of the youngest._

_I know, I see it and I cannot stop it. _

_The time comes as swiftly for you as it does for me. The vision of you, your children and all the other families destined for the same fate depend on my strength to finish this, and your strength to listen. The drawing on the reverse of this will call the yellow eyed demon to you, but with no weapons you are a dead man. _

_Without each other, one child will burn in hell and the other will rule hell on earth._

_Wait, you will know when the time is right to finish your fight. _

_If you are strong, I know that your children will continue to fight after your death. If you are selfish, and call this thing to fight it on your own all will be lost. You mist wait. You will know.'_

John leaned back in disbelief. He twisted the papers over in his hand. There was nothing more apart from the drawing on the reverse. In anger he thrust the letter into his pocket.

_No_.

He refused to believe what this woman had written.

"No, no, fucking no!" He shouted it, causing the remaining researchers within the room to stare at him.

John was passed caring; the letter had been for him. It may have well been stamped:

Attn of -

John Winchester

Black Fucking Truck,

or

Nearest Crap Motel.

The hatred and violence in his face made his follow workers swiftly shift back their stares that, or begin to pack up and leave. John struggled to keep calm.

_The archivist had to be right; the woman was mad._ A hunter gone mad. John knew it was possible, Jesus, how many times had he stood a the precipice and stared down into what was the hell pit of his life? How may times had he almost taken that gun and pushed it under his chin when Jack could no longer drown his grief? _How many times? Countless. Bitch. How dare she give me a way to call the thing and then deny me the right. How fucking dare she say that Sam... that Sammy, my baby will turn. That Dean, who loves Sam more than life will die. Worse, rot in hell, in punishment for loving so much._

_Fucking bitch!_

John got the diary and threw it across the room. He swiftly turned to the assistant to rage at her too. The world was his enemy, and for once it was true.

Her cocky laughter stalled him.

"So now you know John. I must say, the last few minutes watching you read that letter was kind of a turn on. Meg said that Sammy was worth the look see, and that Dean was hot too. But you,' she breathed in, 'Johnny, boy, you are right up my ally. It is that tortured look. Makes me wet." Gone was the beguiling look to her eyes, the only thing left was blackness. "Are ya gonna call my daddy? I hope so. I can clean up your dead body afterwards." She curled her hip forward and tilted her head.

"You..." John ran out of words. He did the only thing he could think of in reply and whipped out the holy water he always had stored up his sleeve. It was a vicious pleasure to sling it in her face and see it burn.

To strung out to finish the hunt he ran. Luckily for John, he was a cautious bastard and they hadn't found the truck parked a mile away. Unlucky for John, he felt that his black and white world of good and evil was coming undone.

He flicked on the radio to calm himself as he drove. The emergency scanner caught the back up request for a fire at the library and he heard the sirens sound as they streamed past. They mixed with the sounds of the radio.

"Don't go round tonight,

it might just take your life,

There's a bad moon on the rise.'

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The end.

Authors note: I'm not really sure if the UV lamp trick works with anything but copypress letters.

If you spot any type errors, of which I am sure there are many please drop me a note.


	2. Chapter 2

Epilogue

Looking into the battered face of his youngest son, John wished for more time.

Sam had turned to go, but twisted back for a second. His puffed up eye had looked all the more painful for his confused expression. It made John ache for the heartbreak he knew was coming.

'You know... the demon said he had plans for me, and children like me. Do you have any idea what he meant by that?'

'No, I don't.' Despite the smile that had accompanied them, the words left a dirty taste in his mouth. John could almost sense the fact that Dean would know he had lied. In that moment, he was glad that his eldest had not been there to witness his need to know crap. For once, Dean might have called him out on it. But in truth Dean would side with him, knowing that Sam didn't need any more pain or responsibility laid at his door. He was too young and too lost to know yet.

When Sam had returned from Bobby's, and then, from following the crash cart, his grim look told John everything - Dean was slipping. They both were. Sam needed his brother. _**Perhaps he can contact him, call him from wherever his spirit is? Perhaps...**_

'Anything's possible.' He had told his youngest son, and when it came to his boys, John had the faith to believe it. He just couldn't take the chance that it might not work.

Sam had nodded once in reply and left again with a quiet sigh, his long form disappearing through the doorway. John knew it might very well be the last time he saw him, and so savoured the sight and sound.

_**Sam had felt Dean?**_ His abilities were only getting stronger. There was no way he, John could save Sam. Only Dean could. In a way, despite what was coming, John was almost glad to give in. He was tired. There was no way he could do what he may have to ask Dean to do. There was no way he could kill Sammy. He just wasn't strong enough for that. But he was strong enough for this. This way, there was a chance that both his sons would survive. It was tiny, but it was hope. He was willing to sacrifice everything he was to save them both. He loved them more than anything else in this world.

Careful of his injured leg, John eased himself from beneath the cotton blankets and stiffly began to dress. That done, and with a heavy heart, he collected the bag Sam had brought from Bobby. The contents of it only reminded him of the summoning spell. The letter, in his pocket, seemed to burn a hole through the thin fabric of his shirt, right into his chest. With shaking fingers, he retrieved the yellowing pages, flipping them to the anarchic symbol on the reverse. He stared at it like he had so many times before. It was a pointless gesture really: he'd committed the image to memory a long time ago.

Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply.

It was time.

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A/N

I know I said one shot – just read back what I had written and thought I'd add this.


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